Hold Up the World
by EOlivet
Summary: Mary and Matthew, in the eye of the storm. Inspired by descriptions of the S3 clips from TCA.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: 3x01. Based on events described in the S3 clips shown at TCA, as well as a healthy dose of spec.

* * *

The drawing room was absolutely still. It wasn't even the calm before the storm – rather, it was the eye of the storm. Gone was the easy din of polite discourse, nor even the slightly unnerving (but at the same time slightly comforting) cacophony of falsely enthusiastic chatter. They all simply sipped their drinks in silence, marred only by the occasional spark exploding harmlessly from the fireplace.

No one even had the energy to pretend anymore.

"Excuse me." Mary's hushed tone sounded more like a dull roar as she rose from her place on the settee, where she was sat a comfortable distance from Matthew on the other side of her.

Nobody spoke – nobody even called after her as she retreated out of the drawing room, into the library – flinging open the door on the far wall that opened up to the outside. She covered her mouth, trying to suppress her urge to scream as loudly as she could. How they could just sit there and do _nothing_, when everything seemed to be falling apart—

Her nails dug into her palms through her gloves as she thought of Matthew – the worst offender of them all. Embracing his middle class principles when it suited him, and abandoning them when she really needed him to speak up – to _do_ something, to shake them all out of this. But he took his cues from her father now, and had remained as silent as the rest of them.

She started walking, as she did when she was a girl – away from the Abbey, away from the shadow of the house. Indeed, she felt as if she'd been standing there her entire life, only to find it cast a smaller shadow than she'd thought.

The sun had almost set – the streaks of pink still painting the sky were being swallowed up into the darkish blue dusk. The air was as still as the drawing room, yet peaceful somehow. A calm kind of quiet.

Mary clenched her hands into fists in a poor attempt to release some tension. It was either that or she could break into a run across the grounds as if she was a child or some kind of heroine of an overwrought novel.

As she turned round to take another look at her home in the near darkness, she saw a familiar figure standing by the door.

She froze where she stood, more surprised than anything that Matthew had followed her – the stark white of his shirt and waistcoat almost gleaming in the dim light. _Shined up bright as a new penny_. The pithy saying came to mind, as she stared at him – how well they'd all polished him to fit amongst their collection, and yet…

Folding her arms, she stood her ground. If he wanted her to come back inside, he would have to…well, she quickly pushed those images out of her mind, clearing her throat and straightening her posture.

He was walking towards her, and she felt a tiny surge of triumph, as she kept still while he approached her. Yes, all was as it should be. Lady Mary Crawley moved for no man, not even…

Her breath hitched momentarily as he continued to close the distance between them. She found her eyes drawn to his – barely blinking in the darkness, and she swallowed. No matter how cross she got, she could only ever hope to hide the effect he had on her.

Finally, he came to a stop to the side of her, allowing a small space as they faced each other. He didn't speak – just kept looking at her – his eyes shining with determined intent. Still, he kept silent.

"Well…what is it?" she asked eventually.

For a moment, he didn't answer – just kept looking at her without a word.

She exhaled, exasperatedly. "Matthew!" she commanded yet again, trying to coax some kind of reaction from him.

But when she started to leave him to his broody silence, she was stopped – startled by the feel of two strong arms enveloping her.

"Matthew, what on earth?" she scolded him, trying to suppress the not altogether unwanted feeling of his arms around her. They'd never embraced, not really – it was a sentiment reserved for parents and children, not…engaged couples, and certainly not in front of the house where anyone could _see_!

"What exactly are you doing?" She threw up her hands, even as they were slightly constricted by his arms now wrapped around her waist. It seemed utterly ridiculous – she didn't _want_ to embrace him, but…his arms were warm and she felt her own rising tentatively – her fingertips barely brushing his back.

Then his grip around her waist tightened and suddenly, she found herself lifted in the air. "_Matthew_!" she cried, her arms now winding round his neck for balance.

It was only then that she realized they were moving, in wider circles across the lawn. Round and round they went, feeling his hands around her waist, his cheek pressed against hers, his breath warming the bare skin of her shoulders…

And it didn't feel right.

Even he seemed to sense it, for after a few moments, he slowly let her down so her feet touched the ground once more. It was much warmer out than it had been the last time they'd made such an attempt, but she shivered nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," he said when her back was still turned towards him.

His response was so simple and so unthinking that she whirled around in utter disbelief, failing to suppress a burst of disbelieving laughter. "The world is falling down around our heads and all you can say is you're _sorry_?"

Now he was looking at her incredulously. "And what would you have me say?"

"Well, I'd hope you'd come up with something better than just sweeping me off my feet," she snapped, without thinking. He seemed to recoil, as if she'd slapped him and she instantly felt a rush of remorse. "Matthew…"

"I know."

He'd turned back towards the house, so all she could see was the rise and fall of his shoulders.

"No one is asking you to hold up the world all by yourself." Her voice was quiet, but firm.

Sighing, he turned back towards her, letting out what sounded like a frustrated sigh. "Then why does it feel that way?"

Her lips quirked upwards, in spite of herself. "I suppose because it comes more naturally to some of us."

"Yes, it does," he replied, with a significant glance in her direction.

She could only favor him with a thin smile as she continued, "While there are others who choose to do nothing…"

"I can't help them." He turned towards her, now sounding almost helpless. "You know why. We've been over this."

"Obviously," she practically scoffed.

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Then why would…"

"Oh Matthew, do you really think I'm speaking about _them_?" She held his gaze silently, but said nothing further.

His lips parted in seeming surprise.

They were both silent for another moment before he quietly admitted, "I…I wasn't trying to…sweep you off your feet, you know."

"Of course you weren't," she responded, coolly – feeling a slight sting of annoyance that she was the one to bring up the gesture, as if such sentiment could possibly be reenacted. Once was quite enough, she told herself – though once was still all she ever wanted.

"I want to do _something_, believe me I do." He took a small step towards her, inclining his head towards the house. "But I can't fix their problems – and I can't believe that's what they want from me."

"Please, you don't have to remind me of everything you _cannot_ do."

A small smile formed on his lips, as if in anticipation of her comment. "Then you know there's only one thing I _can_ do…"

Now she was growing exasperated. "And what is that?"

"Just…try to hold up the world."

Her gaze fell to his hands, which seemed to shift nervously at his side. That feeling of weightlessness enveloped her once more as their eyes met. She could feel herself grow warmer even as the temperature around them continued to fall, as she herself continued to fall a bit more every day.

"All by yourself?" she wondered, almost in a whisper.

He gave her a small smile. "Well, I…have managed it before."

She nodded, pausing for a moment before responding. "Perhaps the world doesn't need holding up anymore." Briefly she glanced to the side. "Perhaps it simply…would like someone there if it falls down."

"So, the world can save itself." His eyes seemed to flicker, still finding hers even in the darkness.

Her gaze flitted briefly to the house. "I'm saying the world has never needed saving." Then she turned her attention back towards him, wondering if the night hid the slight flush in her cheeks. "Even now."

He held her eyes for a moment, before dipping his head in what seemed like acknowledgment. "Quite right."

Clearing his throat, he then wordlessly offered her his arm, accompanying the gesture with what could only be described as an affectionate smirk.

Mary raised an eyebrow pointedly in return. "Only if you promise my feet will stay firmly on the ground."

"_Your _feet will stay exactly where they are," he assured her, as she placed her hand delicately on his arm. "But mine haven't touched the ground for months."

"I seem to be sensing a pattern," she informed him.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's…another problem I'm quite unable to fix." He seemed to move ever closer to her as he spoke.

She tightened her grip around his arm. "Good."

As they walked back to the house together, she almost allowed herself to lean against him.

The End.


End file.
